Thunderstorms Aren't Great
by LilyRaeK
Summary: Thunderstorms used to soothe Harry but now, in the post Second Wizarding War society, Harry doesn't find them quite so peaceful as he used to.


**I'm using a list of '100 Ways to Say I Love You' as a prompt for a bunch of fanfictions. Some will be used together but if anyone wants to use the list or read what may be coming up, I'll put the list in my bio on my profile. Just a warning, they will all be from different fandoms!**

 **19\. "Can I hold your hand?"**

Thunderstorms Aren't Great

Harry used to be fine with thunderstorms, before the war that is. In fact, he quite enjoyed them while he was at Hogwarts. There was something so comforting about sitting in the archway of the dormitory window, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the rain fall quite heavily against the glass. In his first year, he took solace in the fact that thunderstorms were the same whether they were over a magical location or not. Now, however, thunderstorms weren't quite so enjoyable. The war had left many scars physically but to hear the thunder rolling in set Harry into a complete state of panic. He wouldn't have called it panic attacks as such, just memories he'd rather not have.

It was around two weeks after the battle had finished. Grieving was still a time-consuming process for all in the Burrow and life was still drowning in the loss of Fred Weasley. Harry was feeling the loss just as hard as the rest of the Weasleys: Fred felt like a brother to him. The Weasleys were slowly trying to stitch things back together and for now they were all spending as much time as possible at the Burrow.

Harry was once again out on the small balcony at the back of the estate. Arthur had built it a few years ago, when Fred and George had become a bit older. The boys had been known to fly around at night so Molly had requested that a landing platform would be built so that the boys could land their brooms and come straight inside. The entrance was nearly on the top floor and shared the same staircase as Ron's room did but it was far enough from Ron's room that he and Ginny – on the floor below - wouldn't be disturbed in the night.

The balcony was always quiet. It allowed Harry some time to think. He let his mind sift through all the things he had been repressing thus far: the war, the dead, the victory. He knew he should be happy about the amount of terror and suffering he had saved the Wizarding World but for now, he chose to focus on the fact that if he had done things a bit faster, a bit better or even started a bit sooner, he would have been able to prevent much more suffering.

Being thought of as a war hero wasn't all it had turned out to be as Harry, Ron and Hermione had all discovered. When they'd attempted to return to Grimmauld Place to see if any damage had been done when Yaxley had followed them, they found themselves surrounded by wizarding reporters all wanting to get the slightest comment from the Boy Who Lived and his friends. As the Burrow was thankfully so far away from everything in the Wizarding community, the had all found that it was easier to stay there and use the Floo Networks to get to the necessary places such as Arthur to the Ministry, Harry to Grimmauld Place and Hermione to visit McGonagall at Hogwarts.

Harry found himself watching the latest thunderstorm roll in and hadn't quite got the energy to get up and get inside away from the haunting memories. It was at that moment, when he felt he needed to get inside or he might actually have his first ever panic attack, that he heard the window pane slide up and two feet carefully pad down on the balcony. The window slid shut again gently and the feet padded towards him before coming to a stop as he noticed a body appear and sit next to him. Ginny.

She didn't say anything for a moment or two and so he took the opportunity to openly stare at her and absorb every detail of her face. The patterns of her freckles scattered her nose like the constellations that were visible from the Burrow on an especially clear night. Her strong blue eyes flared as she gazed out to the approaching storm, ringed in red splotches as they were often these days. Her long auburn hair was ruffled slightly by a breeze that was already carrying the promise of summer.

Finally, she turned to meet his gaze. She still said no words but instead scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Harry took a deep breath and allowed himself to smell the fruity flavour of her perfume. He rested his head against her own after a moment of deliberation. Unbeknownst to the other, both their eyes fell shut as the next breeze washed over them.

Everything was quite content until the thunder clapped from far off again. Harry gave a little jump and Ginny felt it, sitting up to frown at the action.

"Still getting to you?" She murmured.

He nodded in response. No words followed so she lowered her head back to his shoulder and began to hum. Her humming did nothing to drown out the approaching sounds of the storm and the war thoughts that came with it but it did manage to take his mind off of the situation for at least a few moments.

Another clap of thunder echoed from far in the distance and this time, managed to prompt some words from Harry.

"D'you think…would it be…can I hold your hand?" he mumbled.

"To get you through the storm or because you want to?" she inquired.

"Both," he said sheepishly.

She smiled to herself for the first time in a number of days and gently slipped her hand into his so that their fingers wound together. The scars of the war would most likely never heal fully but there, sat on the balcony, Harry felt the slightest bit of contentment. It wasn't as much as he would have liked but it was a lot more than the past year had brought him so he was thankful. Harry began to realise then that healing would have to be a lot longer process than he was planning it to be but if this was a step towards it then maybe healing was something to look forward to: normality, family and sometimes, the occasional thunder storm.


End file.
